The Power of Trust
by Robin4
Summary: In which Belle tries to heal the very broken Dark One whose control she has inherited. Follow on to "The Power of Names." Final round fic from the 2014 Rumbelle Showdown. AU.


Note: This is a continuation of "The Power of Names", and probably won't make much sense if you don't read that first.

* * *

 **The Power of Trust**

* * *

The first month after Belle had put a stop to the clerics' so-called _punishments_ had been rocky. Belle had ordered the Dark One moved to a tower room that could be easily locked, and had commanded him not to leave it—or use magic—without permission. Bishop Chesson howled about how the Dark One would take advantage of such _lax_ treatment, but Belle had held firm. What the clerics had already done to him to 'punish him' was quite enough. Just thinking of the torture they had subjected him to made Belle sick to her stomach.

During that month, the Dark One— _Rumplestiltskin_ he had said his name was—was silent unless spoken to, just sitting on the bed in the tower room and staring blankly out the window. The clerics claimed he was plotting, planning, _evil_ , but Belle thought he was just traumatized. He didn't eat unless someone told him to, and shrank back into the corner when anyone walked in. Even Belle received that treatment in the beginning.

At first, she didn't know why she even bothered. Bishop Chesson told her time and again that she was putting her soul on the line, that she should simply _command_ the Dark One to do as she pleased, but Belle refused to do so. Rumplestiltskin might have looked strange with his scaly, golden-colored skin, but there was a man hiding behind the shadows in the reptilian eyes. One who had been hurt very badly.

"Why don't you eat until someone tells you to?" she asked one afternoon, a month after moving him to the tower room.

He looked at her like she'd gone mad. His voice was quiet. "I'm not supposed to."

"Why not?"

Immediately, his eyes flicked to the door as if he expected clerics to come punish him. "They hurt me."

"You poor man," she whispered, reaching out—without thinking—to lay a hand on his. He let her, but not without a terrified twitch that said he _wanted_ to pull away, eyes wide and clearly bracing himself for pain. "That won't happen again," Belle swore. "I promise."

Rumplestiltskin looked away, and Belle could feel his hand shaking beneath her palm. Slowly, she pulled her hand back, a little wounded until she started _thinking_ again.

"You obviously don't want to be touched, so why don't you pull away?" she asked gently.

"Not allowed."

"Not—" Belle cut herself off with an effort. "The clerics commanded you not to, didn't they? Even when they hurt you."

"Yes." His whisper was broken, and Belle's heart ached for him.

"You don't have to let anyone hurt you, not ever again," she said firmly. "And if you don't want to be touched, you _can_ pull away. Understand?"

"No," Rumplestiltskin admitted softly, his wide eyes again.

Later, Belle would come to understand that he couldn't lie to her when she held the dagger, that he was subject to her whims and fancies as much as to her commands. But then she did not know that, so she tried desperately to explain to him that _she_ would not stand for anyone hurting him, or for anyone humiliating him and using him the way she knew the clerics had. She even spoke of not taking away his choices and never understood why he looked at her like she was utterly insane.

Back then, Belle had not understood that the Dark One _could_ have possession of his own dagger. She had always assumed her grandfather had dealt with someone else—possibly the Blue Fairy, who had somehow been involved in the whole shady affair—to get it. She never would have guessed that Rumplestiltskin gave up the dagger to save someone else.

* * *

Time passed, and Belle continued to visit. Slowly, she drew Rumplestiltskin out of his shell, bringing him books to read and discovering that he read almost as much as she did—or had, before her grandfather had sent him to the clerics. Outside that tower, her advisors urged her to marry, her father slumbered on, and those who wanted to use a 'weak' female to their advantage surrounded her, but when she was with Rumplestiltskin, she felt free. He was smarter than all of her advisors combined, and had the most charming little giggle when he wasn't trying intentionally to put her off. He was still so fragile, sometimes, but slowly, he warmed to her and she to him.

Sometimes, Belle wondered what might have been if he hadn't been so thoroughly hurt by her family. Sometimes, she fantasized about meeting him under other circumstances, about being _friends_ instead of mistress and Dark One. There were times, laughing and joking with him, when she could almost forget that they were anything but. Rumplestiltskin was clever and funny when he put his mind to it, and once she'd procured him a spinning wheel, he seemed able to put some of his demons to rest. He was still terrifyingly quiet sometimes, still damaged in ways Belle was unsure could ever be repaired, but she began to see glimmers of the man beneath the monster…and she _liked_ him.

Part of her knew that could be something much more dangerous than _liking_ , but she resolutely refused to think on that.

"You _must_ command him to help, Highness. Immediately!" Chesson told her one day, and Belle was ready to stab _him_ with the dagger.

"I _must_ do nothing I do not wish, Bishop," she snarled. "I am regent here, not you."

"You are but a woman and clearly suffering under the influence of the Dark One. He is corrupting you. I can see it."

"He is doing no such thing!" Belle was angry enough to stalk away from the head cleric, but she knew she had to do something. So, her feet carried her up to the tower that had somehow become her one place of refuge.

Rumplestiltskin was spinning when she came in, but he smiled tentatively in greeting. Belle just plopped down on the padded bench near his wheel with a sigh, leaning against the wall.

"I need your help," she admitted softly.

"With what?"

"There are some…water spirits that have been harassing people in the border village. If I don't deal with them soon, my abilities as regent are going to be called into question. _Nothing_ we've tried will make them go away."

She'd read every book available on water spirits, water nymphs, and even water demons. None had helped.

"You could just command me, you know," he said softly. "You have the dagger."

Stung, Belle turned to stare at him. She had hoped they'd moved beyond that, but there was a sadness in Rumplestiltskin's expression that she had not expected. "I don't want to _command_ you."

"Why not? Why else have it?"

"Because…because my family has been trusted to keep it safe. I don't mean to say that what was done to you was right—because it _wasn't_ —but we have a responsibility. _I_ have a responsibility. But that doesn't mean I want to enslave you."

"You already do," Rumplestiltskin replied bluntly. His giggle was high-pitched and defensive. "It's a nicer cage that the others, I admit, but still a cage. While you hold the dagger, I'm your slave. I can't leave, I can't do magic, and I still"—his voice cracked—"nevermind that."

The clerics had led her to believe that the Dark One _had_ to be contained. That things had always been this way. Looking at the pain in his eyes, Belle began to wonder.

"Where were you before my grandfather gained the dagger?" she asked, almost afraid of the answer.

"Free," he whispered.

"But you can't have been."

"And why not?" Rumplestiltskin demanded. "Afraid I'd destroy the world if left to my own devices, dearie?" But the fury seemed to drain out of him almost immediately. "I'm over 300 years old, and I've yet to even try _that_."

"How would you be free?" Leaning forward, Belle took his hand, and was glad when he didn't pull away, despite the way she could see the conflict in him. "Do I just tell you to have your freedom, and that's enough? I mean, someone has to hold the dagger. Don't they?"

Rumplestiltskin stared. "No. I've had it for most of my life, until I gave it up for a deal that was _broken._ "

" _You_ can?"

"Of course I can!"

"Then…why would my family have it?" she asked uneasily.

"Power." He snorted miserably. "It's always about power. Whoever holds the dagger _owns_ my power. And me."

"All I have to do is give it back to you?" Belle asked, feeling the world rocking under her feet. Rumplestiltskin, however, went rigid with shock.

"Why…why would you do that?" he stuttered.

"Because I don't want you to be a slave," she whispered. Because she loved him, but she couldn't say that. "Can I make a deal with you?"

The books always said that Rumplestiltskin did deals, that he never broke them. Belle _wanted_ to offer him her heart, but she knew better—and she knew that should not be a part of a deal, either. She could, however, offer him his freedom…and then maybe, just maybe, they could see where that led them. The hand in hers was shaking, and Belle squeezed his fingers before continuing, because Rumplestiltskin seemed unable to speak beyond a nod.

"I'll give you the dagger back, if you promise not to harm my father or the people of Avonlea. I know you were mistreated, but my people are not at fault."

"Is that all you want?"

"Yes."

Rumplestiltskin looked half-hopeful, half-terrified, and his voice shook. "You have a deal."

Swallowing, Belle pressed the dagger into his hand, watching his eyes go wide and his posture relax. She'd expected him to disappear, to leave her life forever, but somehow his free hand still held hers, even though his eyes were shut with relief.

"You have no idea what this means to me," he whispered, and finally, golden eyes opened to meet hers. "But you never dealt for your own safety."

"I thought that if someone had to bear the brunt of your vengeance, it should be me."

Rumplestiltskin shook his head, suddenly looking bashful. "I could never hurt you."

"Why not?" Her heart skipped a beat.

"Why did you give me this?" he countered.

Somehow, their faces had come very close together.

"I want you to be free," Belle breathed.

Someone moved first; Belle never cared who. She leaned in, and he leaned in, and their lips touched. In the end, what mattered was not what might have been, but what they had _now_.

* * *

 ** _A/N:_** _Again, this is from the 2014 Rumbelle Showdown - it was my final round fic under the alias "Purple Crocodile"._ _I was honored to be the winner last year (much to my surprise), though this is a bit longer than the version from the contest, which was limited to 1,500 words. If there is enough interest, I could probably be persuaded to write a third story in this universe._


End file.
